


The Wedding of Maximilian Veers and Mitth'raw'nuruodo

by FesteringSilence, White_Rainbow



Series: Operation: Galactic Gambit [14]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode V: Empire Strikes Back, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn, Star Wars: Thrawn - Timothy Zahn
Genre: A little sexy kissing, As fluffy as a pair of warriors can be on their wedding day, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Wedding, Wedding Planning, so thats why there's mature rating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-03-27 06:05:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13874727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FesteringSilence/pseuds/FesteringSilence, https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Rainbow/pseuds/White_Rainbow
Summary: Veers and Thrawn announce their engagement to Tarkin and Krennic. Veers has a special surprise for Thrawn when they return to their suite on Coruscant.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [th3rm0pyl43](https://archiveofourown.org/users/th3rm0pyl43/gifts), [mistressminako](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistressminako/gifts), [Nspamc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nspamc/gifts).



> This fic is dedicated to Thermo, Mina and Pam. The three of you have been huge supporters of this ship since the very beginning and we are so thankful for you guys. This ship was absolutely non-existent and you guys have always been there to cheer Fester and me on, inspire, create art and fics (and crochet dolls!) of your own, create HCs that inspire and encourage us to keep going! Thank you for everything guys *big gushy group hug*
> 
> This can be read as a one-shot. Veers' chest scar from [Zaloriis (From "Find Me" here)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11742426) and from [Ozzel (From "Who Dares, Wins" here)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9678380/chapters/30812502) is addressed, but previous reading not required.

**** “An engagement?” Tarkin raised a thin, gray eyebrow. “You  _ proposed _ to him?”

“You disapprove?” Veers asked, setting his empty snifter on the bar. 

A pair of civilians caught his eye a few barstools down as they looked at Tarkin and him with keen interest. The Coruscanti Skullduggery was a tavern friendly to Imperial officers, but it was rare to find anyone of high rank here, especially a grand moff and a major general.

Veers threw them a sharp look and they both returned their attention to their own drinks.

“No, not at all,” Tarkin assured him. “In fact, it is a better outcome than I had expected.”

“Yes,” Veers said, cocking his head. “Thrawn had mentioned you cornered him about our separation.”

“‘Cornered’ is a rather extreme way of putting it,” Tarkin retorted. “I merely showed up unannounced and provided him with much needed advice.”

Veers put a hand on Tarkin’s narrow shoulder. “Whatever you call it, I appreciate what you did for us, Wilhuff.”

“No gratitude necessary, my boy,” Tarkin brushing the hand away as if it was an irritating fly. “It was for the Empire’s benefit. No one could stand watching the two of you sulk like a couple of lost reeks separated from their herd.”

Veers snorted and leaned over the bar to wave at the barkeep who seemed narrowly focused on cleaning his glasses. Frowning, Veers sat back on his stool and sipped the remaining traces of caramel liquid from the snifter. 

“Does Orson know of this yet? I imagine Thrawn is telling him now.”

“He is,” Veers replied. He wondered how Thrawn was doing at the wine club. He also wondered, with a suppressed smile, if Krennic was going to choke on a chocolate truffle at hearing the news. 

Tarkin groaned. “You realize Orson will insist on planning the wedding for you, yes?”

“Thrawn warned me of such.”

“Stars, help me,” Tarkin sighed. “It will gouge my pockets…but worth it, of course.”

“ _ Your _ pockets?” Veers frowned. “We will be paying for our own wedding.”

“Nonsense!” Tarkin barely lifted a long, bony finger to the barkeep before the stout, balding man lumbered over to refill their empty glasses. Veers gave an indignant grunt as he sipped his replenished bourbon. “I have known you since you were a scrappy, bloody-lipped cadet at the Royal Academy. You mean a great deal to me, Maximilian, and since I was not there for you during your time with your late wife, allow me to make up for it with this wedding.”

“I do not recall ever being ‘scrappy’.”

Tarkin let out a short laugh. “My boy, you earned my notice precisely  _ because _ you were ‘scrappy’. You took on every single bully in that institution; a self-proclaimed champion defending the tormented souls of Coruscant.”

Veers’ mind drifted back to the first day he met Captain Tarkin. He still remembered how the imperial grabbed him roughly by the collar, and yanked him off the chest of Juz Winndrop, the Academy's most notorious ruffian. 

Fists still stinging with cuts and swollen eye throbbing painfully, Veers had wriggled away from the captain and jumped in front of Winndrop’s cowering victim, Chaz Nevar. 

“Oi’m not sorry,” the young Veers had spat, wiping tears from his eyes. “‘E’s a roight menace that one!” He had jutted his chin at Winndrop who flinched at the sudden movement.

“I am quite sure of that,” Tarkin had replied, amusement lurking behind an icy blue gaze. “But this sort of behavior can result in expulsion from the Academy, my boy. If you are to continue your crusade to protect those less fortunate, perhaps do so with more discretion? An alley perhaps? At night preferably? Not in the middle of a school yard in broad daylight.”

“Yes, sir,” Veers had said, reeling as he realized he was not going to be punished this time.

“There’s a good lad. I see a promising military career ahead of you. Study hard, keep that charismatic fire stoked and you shall make a fine Imperial Officer.”

Tarkin had always been there for Veers when he needed him most. Even when Veers nearly sabotaged his own career pursuing the Black Sun. It was Tarkin who had managed to keep the angry, young Imperial from being court-martialed, and had sent him to a remote Corellian station instead.

Political barriers kept Tarkin from visiting Veers, but he had made an appearance at Elena’s funeral when the sickness finally took her. It seemed Tarkin had never quite forgiven himself for his absence during those dark times.

The barkeep refilled their glasses, bringing Veers out of the memory.

“This means a great deal to me. Thank you.”

Tarkin rolled his eyes at the sentiment. “Well, I did almost kill you on Wobani. That is before Thrawn could carry out his daring rescue. It is the least I can do.”

Veers laughed. “Is that an apology, I hear?”

“Please,” Tarkin said, dryly. “You and I have been in the Empire long enough to know such things are never personal. I am, however, glad your future husband has a penchant for disobeying orders.”

“You know I never took it personally, Wilhuff.”

“I was  _ not _ apologizing,” Tarkin clarified again. 

Veers grinned. 

“I was not,” Tarkin insisted. 

Veers only grinned wider as he rose the glass to his lips. 

He then paused mid-sip. 

Tarkin’s expression had shifted, the usual thin-lipped austerity and humorless gaze was gone and glassy emotion surfaced. 

“Congratulations, Maximilian.” Tarkin held up his snifter. “I am truly happy for you both.”

“To the future.” Veers lifted his glass.

“For the Empire and two of the best officers I will ever know.”

They clinked their glasses, and sipped their drinks in comfortable silence.

\-----

The last time Thrawn saw Krennic’s eyes shine like this, he had just destroyed a Jedi holy city for the sake of testing his Death Star. 

“Congratulations, darling!” Krennic brushed aside a collection of half-eaten truffles to reach out and clutch Thrawn’s hand. “When is the big day then?”

“We have not-”

“It will need to be quick,” Krennic mused, already pulling out his datapad with one hand and draining the contents of his wine glass with the other. “Especially if it is a planetside venue.”

“Well,” Thrawn said carefully, “it would be more convenient if-”

“It must be  _ planetside _ ,” Krennic insisted, thumbing through screen after screen, the light of each image brightening and darkening his face in the soft lighting of the wine bar. “A wedding aboard a star destroyer is  _ boring _ , Thrawn. I will not allow you to have a  _ boring _ wedding.”

Thrawn had braced himself for this. In truth, the in’s and out’s of festive events was not Thrawn’s forte, and Veers’ previous marriage was little more than a quick ceremony at City Hall on Corellia. Krennic lending a hand  _ was _ useful.

_ “It is also _ Krennic _ , love,”  _ Veers had reminded him.  _ “Keep a tight leash on him or we’re going to be paraded down Coruscant in a golden, fathier-drawn carriage.” _

Thrawn cringed at the thought. So had Veers.

“Orson, we do not want a big wedding.”

At this Krennic stopped scrolling and lifted his eyes from his datapad. “Thrawn...you realize I never had the wedding of my dreams, yes? Trust me when I say that I will do all that I can to make sure  _ you _ get the dream wedding  _ you _ desire.”

Krennic grabbed the decanter and poured more burgundy liquid into his wine glass. Thrawn put a hand over his half-empty glass when offered. 

“A wedding,” Krennic mused, sinking back in his chair. “Spending the rest of your lives together. To think, for a whole month, we were all so sure you two were done for.” He took a small sip of wine. “By the way, that month was absolute  _ Hell  _ for me.”

Thrawn arched an amused eyebrow. “Yes, we were quite insensitive to your feelings, Orson.”

“You most certainly were,” Krennic smirked. “Selfish, the lot of you.”

Despite the sarcasm in Krennic’s voice, Thrawn chewed over the man’s words. “I want...” he began slowly, tracing his index finger around the edge of his wine glass. “I would...like to apologize for shutting you out. You were instrumental in Max’s rescue on Wobani and I repaid you with comm silence for far too long.” He forced his gaze up to meet Krennic’s crystal blue eyes. “Forgive me, Orson.”

The stricken look on Krennic’s face was gone in a flash. He waved a dismissive hand. “It all worked out in the end. You came back, you are engaged, and now we focus on the important thing: your big day.” He pressed a few buttons on his datapad. “Put your faith in me, Thrawn, for I will take care of everything _. _ Venue, flowers, catering, music, party favors, everything. You only need to say ‘yes’ and ‘no’ to my proposals, and I guarantee many more yes’ than no’s.” Krennic scrolled a bit on his tablet. “What are your thoughts on a golden carriage pulled by four white-bridled fathier?”

“No.”

“Not a problem!” Krennic said smoothly, and dragged a finger across his datapad as if crossing out the idea out.

Thrawn tilted his head, noting how Krennic kept his datapad angled away from Thrawn. The director, Thrawn realized, was scanning data that already existed, and did very little typing as he looked over the contents.

“How about a wedding on Denon?”

“Yes.” Thrawn said, watching Krennic strike out several more items on the datapad. “If you can manage the Denonian Metropolitan Museum of Art, the West Wing. That is where Max’s grandfather’s painting is located.”

“An artist?” Krennic inquired.

“A war hero,” Thrawn clarified. “Five Star General Augustus Veers, during the Great Hive Wars.”

“It shall be done.” Krennic swiped the datapad several times more. 

“Tell me, Orson, how long have you had this itinerary planned out,” Thrawn asked.

“Hmm?” Krennic eyes did not lift from the screen. “You only just told me about the wedding a few moments ago.”

“And yet I deduce you have the whole evening planned out.”

“No, it is a  _ daytime _ wedding,” Krennic corrected. “It shall give you plenty of time to recuperate before spending your first evening together. And, might I add, I have several suggestions there as well if you are interested.”

“Perhaps later,” Thrawn said, with an appreciative smile.

“That is enough planning for this evening,” Krennic said, tucking the datapad away. “A toast! To...er...Maximilian and Thrawn Veers, I assume? Or will it be Thrawn and Max Nuruodo?”

“We shall be keeping our names as is,” Thrawn explained, though he had to admit “Mitth’Max’nuruodo” did have a delightful ring to it.

“Very well then,” Krennic lifted his glass. “To the blueberry and his beloved coconut.” 

He clinked Thrawn’s glass before the chiss could inquire on the nature of the nicknames.

\-----

Tarkin had left Veers in front of the Grand Motti Hotel with a keycard to the “Royal Suite” and insistent instructions to relax for the next few days with his new fiancé. 

Normally, Veers would have scoffed at the idea of taking time off. Yet after a month-long separation with Thrawn, having the opportunity to some alone time with him was hard to resist. 

Veers sat on a small bench beside the main entryway, shoving his gloved hands into his peacoat for added warmth.

Winter on Coruscant was the same on any ecumenoplis. Snow collected the tops of towers, but seldom made it further. The warm lights of monstrous skyscrapers and starbright billboards reduced snowfall to little more than a chilly mist.

Veers was fifteen years old the first time he saw snowfall. The glittering snowflakes of Skellis II were comparable only to the majestic snow storms of Hoth, which Veers had experienced decades later. He remembered the lieutenant cuffing the back of the head as he repeatedly fell behind on his drills. It was worth it to look up and feel the cold, white flakes melting on his rosy cheeks.

Veers looked around the hotel’s plaza. Twinkling lights hung from round-leafed trees and stout bushes. Floor lamps encircled a central fountain, which stubbornly sputtered ice-cold water from half-frozen spigots. Coruscanti winters may be nothing like Skellis II, nor Hoth, but winters like this reminded Veers of home. Denon had the same misty nights, the same scurrying civilians covered in colorful nerf fur, darting in and out of warm shops, and the same soft lights and festive energy of Winter Solstice. 

Amidst the busy crowd, a single figure caught Veers’ eye. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a simple black turtleneck and gray slacks. His calf-high boots clicked against the stone walkway. He walked with his hands tucked behind him, as if strolling across the bridge of a star destroyer. Red eyes glowed scarlet, cerulean skin almost blue-black in the plaza’s gentle light.

Veers smiled.

Thrawn smiled back.

_ You are everything to me _ . 

The words surfaced in Veers’ mind so suddenly it gave him pause. 

_ Everything… _

It was a terrifying thought. Veers had loved his late wife tremendously. She was clever and beautiful, but also a porcelain doll for him to protect and cherish. His love for her was different from how he felt for Thrawn. 

With Thrawn, Veers felt as if he had met his match. Not just an equal in battle, in intellect or tactical prowess. There was a balance Veers felt when he was with Thrawn - someone Veers could protect, and yet someone who could look out for him in return.

Thrawn had stormed the ruins of a Rebel base to seek revenge for him. 

Thrawn had risked his life to save him on Wobani. 

Thrawn even went so far as to sacrifice their own relationship in a misguided attempt to protect Veers from further harm.

Veers had always felt he needed to be the armored champion for whomever he loved. Never had he experienced what Thrawn made him feel…

_...Safe _ , he realized.  _ He makes me feel safe. _

Thrawn tilted his head, those sharp eyes scrutinizing Veers’ face. “Something on your mind, General?”

“Definitely,” he deflected, holding up the hotel keycard with a sly smile spreading across his lips.

“By all means then,” Thrawn replied, a gloved hand gesturing to the glass entryway. “Let us see what wonders The Motti’s Royal Suite has in store for us.”

\-----

Thrawn barely had time to flip on the light before Veers had him pinned against the wall.

“Max,” Thrawn gasped. The scent of bourbon and faint, woodsy cologne drifted off Veers in an intoxicating blend. Thrawn pressed his face against the rough peacoat, wishing there were less clothes between them.

“I have missed you, love,” Veers whispered, his breath hot against Thrawn’s cheek. The general’s hands slid along Thrawn’s arms, guiding them up over his head. A thigh found its way between Thrawn’s legs and the chiss let out a soft hiss as he grinded against it. 

“I have missed us,” Thrawn panted, catching Veers’ lip and suckling it softly. 

Never leaving Thrawn’s pink, glossy lips, Veers released his wrists, shrugging off his pea coat, and kicking it backwards. Now only a thin, olive green shirt and Thrawn’s turtleneck separated the two bodies longing to be together. 

Thrawn kept his arms over his head, squirming against Veers’ thigh. Molten need was overtaking his senses. “I want to feel you against me,  _ ch’eo vur. _ ” Thrawn sighed, pressing his hardened organ down on Veers’ thigh to prove his point.

Veers peeled the turtleneck off of Thrawn’s long torso. A few blue-black strands fell over his forehead, and Veers let out a passionate chuff at the dishevelment. 

Thrawn had intended on keeping his arms obediently above him until directed otherwise, but then Veers bent down to give his chest some long overdue attention. With a mischievous grin, Veers nibbled along the edges of Thrawn’s pectorals, biting the muscle softly until coming to his midnight blue nipple. The sensitive nub hardened as Veers breathed over it. Thrawn was already moaning even before Veers began to dole out a few tentative flicks of his tongue. Fists tightening, back arching, Thrawn abandoned his plan entirely and grabbed at Veers’ shirt, intending to rid him of the cotton barrier between their chests.

With a surprised grunt, Veers pulled away. “Wait.”

Thrawn blinked. “Is something wrong?” 

Apprehension seemed to tense Veers’ jaw, and he rubbed the back of his neck as if working through some sort of internal debate. 

“If you are not ready…”

“No, just...come here.” Veers took Thrawn’s hand and lead him to the extravagant white and gold, four poster bed with a rose silk canopy. “I have something to show you.”

Thrawn sat down, sinking a little into the plush mattress. 

_ I have seen his scar before,  _ Thrawn thought.  _ Ozzel’s attack could not have made the jagged flesh look any worse. In fact, the cut had been far cleaner than the previous blade that had marked him. _

Veers took a few steps backwards. 

“I wanted to show you earlier, but…” he swallowed hard. As if ripping off a bandage, Veers pulled off his shirt in one, swift swoop.

“Oh,” Thrawn breathed. “Oh, Max…”

Thrawn was never one to be left speechless. 

There was not much left in the galaxy that could surprise him. 

But this...

Where once a vicious scar stretched from his collarbone across his chest, now was little more than a faint streak of pale skin. 

“The wound Ozzel gave me provided a unique opportunity to heal the previous scar. I spent the month we were apart slowly being sewn back together.” Veers put a hand on his chest, fingers running along the smooth skin. “That scar lied to both of us, Mitth’raw’nuruodo. I once carried it with me as a symbol of my failure on Zaloriis. I was wrong. That scar was a hinderance, a useless anchor to guilt a young colonel who did his best with the assignment he was given. 

“After Wobani, I realized just how unpredictable the galaxy is. There was nothing I could have done to appease the volatile nature of the Zaloriians. There was nothing any of us could have done to predict the intensity of Ozzel’s betrayal. Even though I was sure I would never see you again, I did not want scars like that weighing me down any longer.” Veers wilted a moment.

“I must mention, however, they could not do much the flagellation scars on my back. They tried...but...”

Thrawn rose from the bed, grabbed Veers’ arm and pulled him into a tight embrace. Veers let out a choked sound of relief, burying his face in Thrawn’s neck. Making his point absolutely clear, Thrawn wrapped his arms around the scarred back, hands pressed against the raised skin that he loved regardless of its condition. 

For a long moment, Thrawn and Veers stood together in a tight embrace. Their bare flesh pressed together as if made for each other. No longer could Thrawn feel the tortured scar against his own pectoral. No longer could he sense the emotional pain that came with it every time Veers exposed himself to him.

It was as if Veers had finally freed himself from the chains that bound him for too long. Thrawn felt as if somehow it freed him, too. 

“I cannot wait to be your husband, Thrawn,” Veers whispered.

“Nor can I,” Thrawn purred. He pulled away and placed a hand over Veers’ heart. “It will be a fresh start for the both of us.”

Veers’ brown eyes, flecked with green, shone with emotion for the briefest of moments...before mischief flickered within them.

Thrawn knew that look.

“Max…”

Veers’ hands grabbed Thrawn’s rear and suddenly the chiss was lifted into the air. Reflexively Thrawn wrapped his legs around the man and was rushed backwards onto the bed. Thrawn landed on the mattress with a loud  _ oof,  _ the handsome brute looming over him. 

“Problem?” Veers asked with a boyish grin.. 

There was not one. Veers’ hips rocked against Thrawn’s in such a way that only made his growing desire hard to resist. 

Still...he needed to mention...

“Krennic suggested we stay chaste before the wedding.”

Veers immediately lifted his hips, and hung his head in defeat. “That...is Denonian tradition as well,” he admitted, if a bit reluctantly. 

“Imagine how wonderful it will feel by then,” Thrawn tried to console him, though he was not feeling particularly excited about the tradition.

“Of course,” Veers said and began to pull away.

Thrawn hooked his legs around Veers’ thighs and held him in place. Veers froze, his eyes were a pair of hazel embers. 

“It would be rude to waste three nights here in the Royal Suite without enjoying it to our full capabilities,” Thrawn reasoned.

“I agree,” Veers said quickly, his hips lowering again. “Very rude.” 

He leaned in, but Thrawn put his fingers against Veers’ lips. 

“Not there,” he said, feeling the heat rush to his cheeks. His scarlet eyes dropped down suggestively. 

Veers’ gaze followed to the hardness tenting Thrawn’s trousers. 

“If you are up for it, that is,” Thrawn said. The last time Veers had consumed Thrawn’s essence, the reaction had sent the general into an insatiable frenzy. It resulted in multiple orgasms for Thrawn and a single, long-sustained orgasm for Veers. It was intense. It was also a perfect way to herald the beginning of their rekindled relationship.

“Stars...Yes, please,” Veers breathed, peppering Thrawn with kisses on his chin, his neck, his chest, and further. 

“Just pace yourself,  _ ch’eo vur _ ,” Thrawn warned. “I don’t want you to- _ nnngh... _ ” Thrawn’s words faded away as Veers mouthed over his bulge eagerly.

Veers did not pace himself.

Neither did Thrawn.

Their “rekindling” lasted well into the wee hours of the morning…then continued the next day...and the next…


	2. King and Lionheart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long awaited wedding is here.  
> Lyrics featured in the wedding is [King and Lionheart by Of Monsters and Men](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MtyBBoOUgho)  
> 

“No, this is all wrong. We must start over,” Thrawn said, already working his way out of the ceremonial sash.

“Wait, don’t- Aww,  _ Thrawn _ ! It was perfect that time,” Eli sighed as Thrawn placed the gold and burgundy sash in his hands. “You know, I’ve tied a sash or two in my life. Hell, I’ve tied Ar’alani’s sash for her own dang wedding. I know what I’m doing.”

“I know you do,” Thrawn replied, facing the mirror again. “That is why I am entrusting you with this. Also, I noticed two small creases near the tassels, if you don’t mind...”

“I’ll...get right on it,” Eli muttered. 

Through the reflection of the floor-length mirror, Thrawn watched Eli maneuver through the cramped room towards the ironing board, carefully passing Pellaeon wrestling with his suit, and Krennic, fully dressed and fussing over Thrawn’s boutonniere. 

The art restoration room of the Denon Metropolitan Museum of Art was not meant to be a dressing room. In fact, the museum had never hosted a wedding before, but a few well-chosen words and a significant amount of credits from Krennic swayed the stubborn curator into allowing the event to take place. 

Unlike Krennic, Thrawn enjoyed the atmosphere of the converted restoration room.

The scent of oils, leather and traces of turpentine smelled like creativity, history, and artistic appreciation. 

Krennic said it smelled like a Nal Hutta fuel station. 

Splotches of dried paint stained the floors and the rich yellow walls. Krennic had cleared out the easels and stools, replacing them with two wall-length mirrors, a long table, a portable wardrobe, and a makeshift vanity for Thrawn consisting of a cushioned stool, high table and a magnifying mirror.

Thrawn had also noticed Krennic had arranged a few art pieces from the museum’s main exhibit to be hung around the vanity. Two still-lifes of various fruit and flowers, and a portrait of a young Rodian female looking up a starry night sky. 

“Visuals to soothe the groom,” Krennic had explained.

Except Thrawn did not feel he needed “soothing”. 

His heart rate was low. His hands were steady. He had eaten a full meal that morning. And yet, Krennic, Eli and Pellaeon all fussed over him as if he were a fragile bauble about to crack.

_ The ceremony is merely a formality expected by the Empire,  _ Thrawn reasoned.  _ A formality of a promise Max and I have already made to one another. There is no reason to be nervous.  _

A sudden, sharp pang hit Thrawn chest so suddenly that he pressed his palm over his heart. Closing his eyes, he drew in several deep breaths, willing the pain to subside.

Eventually, it did.  

When Thrawn opened his eyes again, he refocused on the task at hand: ensuring his wedding attire was perfect.

Thrawn’s fingers sang over the silken fabric of the long, cream tunic covered in a pattern of burgundy floral diamonds. The unfolded, stand up collar was held together by a glittering ruby and the fabric below parted in a wide teardrop, exposing the crevice of Thrawn’s pectoral muscles. Cream pants fitted loosely around his hips beneath the tunic, and a pair of burgundy slippers with cream tassels comforted his feet. 

A simple gold ring adorned Thrawn’s hand on his middle finger, and attached to it was a pair of chains leading to a bracelet on his wrist. The bracelet bore an inscription in  _ Cheunh  _ script _.  _ “For Raw.”

“What’s Raw mean?” 

Thrawn looked up and noticed Eli had returned with the sash and was watching him trace a finger over the inscription.

“My name before my adoption into the Mitth House.”

“Was it from Thrass?”

“Yes.”

Eli smiled. “You look great, Thrawn.”

“Thank you, Eli,” Thrawn replied, feeling hints of pain rise in his chest again. 

Movement caught his attention in the mirror. “No,” Thrawn said, eyes narrowing at Krennic. “That is wrong.”

Through the reflection, Thrawn could see Krennic lift his head, a white and burgundy calla lily in his hand. “I haven’t actually started the boutonniere yet, darling.”

Thrawn frowned. “It will be entirely too much baby’s breath.”

Krennic looked down at the large bouquet of baby’s breath on the table. “I’m not planning to put the whole bunch on your chest. Trust me. It will be modest.”

Thrawn nodded in approval, then shifted his gaze to Pellaeon, who was fiddling with the suspenders on his suit. Like Eli and Krennic, Pellaeon wore dark gray trousers, and a crisp white shirt. The cream tie with a burgundy lattice pattern hung loose around his neck and his gray blazer still hung in the small wardrobe. 

“The strap is twisted, Gil,” Thrawn noted. 

Pellaeon looked down at the strap in his hand. “This one? It does not feel-”

“No, the other.”

“Oh um...” Pellaeon’s bushy brown eyebrows furrowed and his white bottlebrush mustache twitched. “Yes, well, I have not addressed that one yet, but ah...thank you, Thrawn. As soon as I adjust this strap, I will untwist the other.”

“Very good,” Thrawn said. Then after a moment he added. “Gil, you are walking me down the aisle, correct?”

Pellaeon blinked. “Yes, of course. With Eli and Orson preceding us, just as we practiced.”

Thrawn nodded, unsure as to why he had asked. 

_ This is a formality _ , he reminded himself again.

Chest throbbing once more, Thrawn rubbed the bare skin over his heart gently.

“Alright, here we go,” Eli said, slipping the sash over Thrawn. “Lift your arms up and...alright, and now around the waist...great...one-two-tie-and-twist, yes! Now let’s get a look at ya.”

Thrawn turned away from the mirror to face Eli, but his head turned back. “It seems…”

“Thrawn,” Eli said, warningly. “Take a deep breath and close your eyes.”

“Whatever for?”

The smile Eli returned to him held an edge of sympathy. 

_ Misplaced sympathy _ , Thrawn added.

“Just do it...for me.”

With a small sigh, Thrawn closed his eyes. 

“Now, take a deep breath...there ya go. Now, let it out slow...”

Thrawn exhaled. The tightness in his chest loosened somewhat and a tension he hadn’t noticed in his shoulders was beginning to ease. He felt Eli’s hands on his arms, guiding him to turn around and face the mirror. 

“Alright, open your eyes and tell me immediately what you think. Just the first thing that comes to your mind.”

Thrawn opened his eyes.

The gold threads on the burgundy sash glittered brilliantly in the stark light of the room. The tassels were untangled and the creases he had spied earlier were gone. The sash came down over one shoulder, then wrapped around his torso in a flattering fashion, hugging his narrow waist and accentuating the broadness of his chest. 

“Perfect,” Thrawn admitted. 

...Then he tilted his head. “Although, I do see-”

“Perfect!” Eli grinned, clapping Thrawn on the shoulder. “Alright! I’m going to finish getting dressed. You’re doing your own makeup I’m assuming?”

“I would prefer it, yes,” Thrawn replied.

Eli grabbed his tie and blazer from the wardrobe and moved next to Pellaeon to share the other mirror.  

Smoothing out his tunic, Thrawn sat in front of the vanity where a small black box was waiting for him. Thrawn reached out to open the box and it was only then that he realized his hand was trembling. Quickly, he lowered his hand and glanced around. No one had noticed.

_ Too much caf this morning. Not enough protein at breakfast. My sleep was shortened by a half-hour. _

Satisfied that Thrawn had diagnosed the tremor accurately, he opened the black box.

Strange. He had opened the box countless times throughout the years, yet now it felt similar to the first time since his brother had given it to him. Small vials of moisturizer, oils and powders were held in a wooden holder taking up half of the box. Colorful eyeliner pencils were held by a rack on the adjacent side of the box, while puffs, brushes and pads filled the rest of the space. 

Thrass was adamant on organizing each cosmetic within his own makeup box, and had always known immediately if Thrawn had sneaked into his collection to use something.

Thrawn adopted the practice, if nothing else to honor his brother’s nature of cosmetic appreciation.

Thrawn removed a base cream, a jar of regal blue powder, smoky eye shadow, a black nerf brush, and a tube of lip gloss called Pale Roselight. 

His hand did not shake as he worked, his mind slipping into warm familiarity as he contoured his cheekbones and applied the subtle shade of pink gloss. A quick blot and retouch and his lips were soft and glimmering. Thrawn returned the lipstick and jars to the box and looked over the rack of liners. His favorite liner was  _ Chimaera Red,  _ a black pencil with scarlet letters carved on the side, a chiss cosmetic Krennic smuggled for him from the edges of Wild Space. Below the pencil were a variety of other red liners. 

Thrawn ignored them all. 

At the bottom of the box, beneath a cluster of powder puffs, hid one small pencil, too short to be held by the liner rack and too fragile for daily use.

The  _ Chimaera Red _ label was faded and the pencil’s wooden length was cracked. The tip, though practically immortal in condition and fairly sharp had signs of wear and looked on the verge of breaking.

_ But not yet,  _ Thrawn hoped.  _ Not tonight...please. _

Thrass had given him this pencil over years ago and it seemed fitting that the last time he used it would be on the day he married. Not for his own sentiment but as his brother most likely would have hoped. 

“One day,  _ ch’eo k’sici _ ,” Thrass used to say. “You will find your match, someone who will understand you, who will keep up with your brilliant mind, who will challenge you and love you, and when you find him, hold onto him. Hold on, Thrawn, and never let go.”

_ I intend to, _ Thrawn thought, exhaling and putting the liner to the edge of his eye.  _ You would have liked him, brother... _ with a small smile Thrawn added _...eventually. _

The tremor returned, and Thrawn pulled the pencil away before it could smudge. A lump formed in his throat. 

Swallowing hard did nothing.

“Ya nervous?”

Through the reflection of the mirror he could see inquisitive brown eyes studying him. 

“No.” 

“Yer shaking,” Eli nodded to Thrawn’s hand. 

“I drank too much caf this morning.”

“But you’re alright?”

“Yes,” Thrawn lifted the pencil again, then lowered it, irritated at the persistent shaking. “Are you looking for a different answer?” 

Eli placed a chair beside the vanity and gave a shrug. “Just makin’ sure you’re doin’ alright on this. That’s the duty of a Best Man, ain’t it?”

“Excuse me,” Krennic interjected, swiveling his chair around, “I believe I am the Best Man.”

“I had assumed,” Pellaeon said, fumbling over his cream and burgundy tie, “that we were  _ all  _ his Best Men.”

“Gil is correct,” Thrawn explained. “There is no rank, preference or special treatment among you three today. All three of you have been integral parts in my life and I am honored you will be at my side today.”

“As long as I stand closest to you,” Krennic mumbled, swiveling back around and clipping a bit of baby’s breath for the final touches.

“To answer your question, Eli. I am not nervous. This event is merely a formality.” 

“Yeah, you mentioned that before a few times.” Eli leaned an elbow on the vanity, resting his chin in his hand. “I really like him, Thrawn.”

“Yes,” Thrawn agreed, checking his hand. The tremor lessening. “I recall noticing a poster of Colonel Veers in your locker at the Academy.”

Krennic burst into laughter, swirling around again. “You had a crush on Thrawn’s betrothed?”

Eli’s eyes went wide. “No! I just...it was an anti-Black Sun flyer. A lot of us had them in Wild Space! He was...inspirational! I also had pictures of Fawkes Yularen too, best Supply Master in the Empire.” He threw a sour look at the still-chuckling Krennic before returning to Thrawn. “I meant that I really like him with  _ you _ . I like how you are together. You two are a couple of peas in a pod and I'd be lucky to have anything close to what you two feel for each other. That’s all.”

Thrawn looked at Eli for a long moment, large inquisitive eyes looking back at him with the same empathetic accuity he possessed when they first met. Eli meant every word of what he said, but then, he always said exactly what he meant. Thrawn always appreciated that of him.

“Thank you, Eli,” Thrawn said, returning his focus to the mirror. “That means a great deal to me.”

“Well I find him quite charming,” Pellaeon put in, fiddling with his tie, a tutorial pulled up on his datapad. “I am happy for you both.”

“Would you like to hear what  _ I _ think of him?” Krennic lilted, waving the half-wrapped calla lily around. 

“No,” said the other three together, though only Thrawn added a “thank you” at the end. Krennic grinned and continued wrapping the lily’s stem in burgundy tape.

Thrawn raised the small, fragile pencil to his eye. This time, his hand did not shake.

_ “Relax your wrist,”  _ Thrass had advised a lifetime ago. “ _ Don’t strangle the pencil, but don’t hold it too loosely. You are the artist and these are merely brushstrokes on a cerulean canvas. Good, good! Now glide up, flick your wrist...perfect! Bring it back down...And now a second stroke!” _

Line after line was created. Thrass’ bright red eyes decorated with lavender liner were vivid in Thrawn’s mind, studying and scrutinizing his younger brother’s work.  _ “You’re a quick study, Raw. I hope you mind your elders as well as you mind me in this lesson.” _

Thrawn did not...and Thrass had always known this.

_ “Remember this technique. You’ll one day use it the day of your wedding. Chiss pencils are made to last so keep this...and I hope you use it on your special day.” _

“Oh wow…”

Thrawn saw three sets of eyes staring at him in the mirror. “A problem?” Thrawn asked.

“Amazing,” Krennic breathed.

Eli said. “Did ya learn that from Thrass, too?”

“Yes,” Thrawn said, and left it at that.

“Your brother must have been a...beautiful, fine fellow,” Pellaeon offered. 

“Thank you, Gil. That he was,” Thrawn said, picking up a small cotton swab to clean the slight imperfections from his eyes.

The eyelids were smoky gray base. Thin lines of scarlet red outlined his ruby eyes and then extended beyond the edges of his eyelids, curving upwards like a pair of narrow-bladed scimitars. 

“He’d be proud,” Eli said. “Ar’alani talks about him a lot. I wish I could have met him.”

“He would have hated you,” Thrawn said with a slight smile.

Eli’s smile was far broader. “Yeah, she mentioned that too.”

“Oh for  _ kriff’s  _ sake, Gilad,” Krennic sighed, drawing both Thrawn and Eli’s attention. “I swear, it’s as if you have never worn a suit before in your life. Eli, put this on Thrawn. Gilad, come here.”

Krennic handed the boutonniere to Eli and snatched the tie away from Pellaeon. 

“I apologize if my usual dress does not include overly complicated tie knots,” Pellaeon huffed, folding his arms across his thick chest. 

Krennic took Pellaeon’s arms and physically unfolded them, making him stand straight. “It only seems overly-complicated because you make it so. Now, watch what I do. Truly, Gil, you should know  _ this _ knot if you are ever going to attract the  _ right  _ ladies. That rumpled abomination will get you nothing but unsophisticated tarts!”

As Eli pinned the lily to Thrawn’s tunic he whispered. “Did you seat Captain Faro next to Gil?”

Thrawn nodded. “At  _ her _ request.”

Eli visibly bit back a smile and Thrawn watched Krennic tutoring his former captain.

To say this was uncharacteristic of Krennic was an understatement, and yet it also sold the man far short. Krennic had been more generous than Thrawn had anticipated throughout the wedding process. Finances notwithstanding, he had single-handedly put together a relatively covert wedding within two months, had planned catering, flowers, decorum, even personalized party favors for the guests. 

He had also devoted a considerable amount of time and expense in coordinating a swift return of Eli Vanto to his side. Thrawn had half-expected Eli’s flight to be “delayed” as Thrawn was well aware of Krennic’s jealousy of their close friendship. When Krennic had personally presented Eli to Thrawn a week ago he had said, with a tight smile. “Your final wedding gift, darling.”

And truly it was the best wedding gift he had received. 

“Ah, you are a vision,” Krennic said, brushing down Pellaeon’s blazer with a lint brush. “If I were half my age and female I would be shamelessly draped across your lap.”

Pellaeon laughed, admiring himself in the mirror. “I would be a very lucky man, Orson.”

Thrawn stood up and made his way back to the floor mirror, rechecking his tunic and pants to ensure no new wrinkles had surfaced.

“We’re ahead of schedule?” Eli asked, tying his own tie without the need of a mirror. “Plenty of time.”

“Ex...excellent,” Thrawn said, gritting his teeth to ignore the heavy hammering against his chest.

“You’re really not nervous?” Eli asked again. 

“No.”

Truly he wasn’t.

Not at all.

“The sash is wrong,” Thrawn said, untying the knot. “Please tie it again.”

\-----

“Confounded tie,” Veers growled, untying the twisted knot for the fourth time. “This was why my father always wore clip-ons.”

“Clip-ons,” Tarkin scoffed, plucking the tie from Veers’ hand and scowling at the new wrinkles. “I would sooner see you out the airlock than in something so tacky as a clip-on tie, Maximilian.”

Veers grumbled as Tarkin returned to the ironing board. “How are the shoes coming, Firm?”

Piett was perched on a crate against the wall opposite of Veers. The museum’s supply closet was not exactly ideal for a dressing room, but after Tarkin threw a few tarps over the empty supply crates, added a few long mirrors and a table dedicated to security monitoring, it was a functional enough space. 

“The scuff is about to be eliminated,” Piett confirmed, his sights set on the stubborn white streaks along the toe of an otherwise shiny shoe. “How in stars’ name did you manage this? These are brand new shoes.”

“I needed to break them in, unless you prefer I hobble down the aisle and hope Thrawn can carry me afterwards.”

“That reminds me,” Piett said. “You are going to carry him across the threshold right?”

Veers laughed...until Piett stopped his fervent polishing to stare at him. “What? Of course not.”

“You  _ have  _ to. It’s Denonian tradition, is it not?”

“Yes true, but most Denonians do not typically marry Chiss warriors, do they?”

Piett sighed heavily. “It is good luck, Maximilian.”

“And is Jabba going to carry you over the threshold one day?” Veers asked.

With a shy grin, Piett returned to his polishing. “Perhaps he will...if he asks…”

“Freja, Yogar. How’s security?”

Several surveillance feeds haloed the table where Covell and Lyste sat. Covell hummed thoughtfully, tugging at his thin black mustache as he studied the screens with shrewd dark eyes. Meanwhile, Lyste’s owlish blue eyes were darting through the same screens, scanning a side panel with scrolling data and putting together Veers’ boutonniere of a crimson rose, scarlet marigolds and sprigs of baby’s breath. 

Covell was fully dressed in his dark gray suit save for his tie which hung over one shoulder. Unlike Thrawn’s party, who wore cream ties with a burgundy lattice pattern, Veers’ party wore burgundy ties with a dark gray lattice design...Or at least they would if any of them actually had successfully tied their ties yet. 

Lyste, who was support staff for Krennic’s wedding coordination, was dressed in his gray lieutenant’s uniform.

“Ship-shape,” Covell replied after a moment. “We have eyes on every entrance, the roof, and a few unfortunate souls in the sewers beneath. This may be the most uneventful mission we’ve faced. Apart from the wedding itself, of course.”

“We also have a squad of TIE defenders on loan from the _Avenger,_ ” Lyste said, while also pulling up a second screen of data and entering something into the code. “They will be doing ‘training drills’ near Jaa’var Lake. If there is trouble, they can be here in fourteen minutes and fifteen seconds. We also have three armored speeders disguised as credit security vehicles and walkers are aboard drop ships on the _Avenger, Executor, and Chimaera_ and at the ready.”

“Are we planning to invade my hometown, Yogar?” Veers teased.

Lyste blushed. “Just...trying to be thorough, sir.”

“I can see that. And what else are you doing, exactly?”

Lyste’s dark eyebrows knitted. “Nothing.”

Veers tilted his head and rephrased his question. “What is  _ Krennic _ having you do?” 

Wilting under the pressure, Lyste confessed. “Adjusting the prices of the catering bill, floral bill and the anticipated prices on the spirits tab. He believed we were being overcharged, and he was right, so he ordered me to fix the uh...discrepancies within the vendors’ data systems. I am also arranging the waiting staff’s schedule, tweaking seating arrangements, monitoring the guest arrival times, and…” he held up the untrimmed bouquet of flowers. “Working on your boutonniere.”

“And what is Krennic doing through all this?” 

“Many things, I am sure,” Lyste said, a little defensively. “But...mostly Thrawn’s boutonniere.”

Veers snorted and lifted his chin, allowing Tarkin to slip the tie around his neck and flip the collar back. “Keep up the good work, Yogar.”

“Yes, sir,” Lyste said, brightly.

“No ranks today,” Veers reminded him. “Call me Max.” 

From the way Lyste shrunk in his seat, Veers could tell that was most likely not going to happen.

“There we are,” Tarkin said, with a final tug. He took a step back. “Perfection.”

“Thanks, Wil,” Veers said, turning towards the mirror. “I don’t know how you did this. I have never seen you in a bow tie.”

“Nor will you ever,” Tarkin said with a slight wrinkle of his nose. “But this is your wedding, and if you require a bow tie, then a bow tie you shall have.”

The bowtie was burgundy, matching the burgundy and black lattice design across his vest. Veers’ crisp white shirt and dark gray trousers were perfectly pressed, as was the matching blazer which Tarkin pulled off the rack to bring to him. 

“Freja,” the grand moff said, helping Veers into the blazer. “When you’re done there with Lyste I will do your tie next.”

“I can manage, Wilhuff,” Covell protested. 

Tarkin’s icy blue eyes narrowed. “I will not have uneven ties on Maximilian’s wedding day. There will be holo recordings of all kinds immortalizing this day and we must be flawless.”

Covell gave an imploring look to Veers, but received no sympathy. “Alright. Yogar, run the numbers again on everyone’s positions and check in with the DTs.”

“Yes, sir!”

Tarkin attended to Covell’s tie, then fussed over the wrinkles on his shirt, trousers, and practically stripped Veers’ second-in-command to redress him all over again. 

Piett, finished with Veers’ shoes, now shifted to his own, obsessing over every smudge and imperfection.

Amid all the noise and bustle within the small room, Veers was able to find a quiet within himself.

_ Here I am again, _ he mused, fixing his onyx cufflinks to his cuffs.  _ A few more wrinkles, a few more scars, but a married man once again.  _

A lifetime ago he had stood in front of a broken mirror in a small farmhouse on Denon, legs shaking as he practiced a shakily written speech. He had had to change his shirt twice due to profuse sweating. 

Now, despite the jitters and anticipation of the day, Veers felt an overwhelming sense of readiness. 

In a way, he felt as if his life had not begun until he had met Thrawn. At least, not the next phase of his life anyway. After Matilda passed, Veers existed as a mere vessel to serve the Empire. Survive one mission to volunteer for the next, snuff out the Black Sun, defend the Empire at all costs, live for everyone else and ignore the grief.

When he met Thrawn, however, Veers found himself wondering about life beyond the Empire.

No longer did he hope for a death in glorious battle. Growing old was a possibility. Retiring with a husband to age with him was his new hope.

_ Mattie, _ Veers thought.  _ You would have approved of him.  _

It had been a decade since he had last seen his late wife, but his memories of Matilda Veers were frozen in time: boisterous laugh, her glittering brown eyes, thick black hair done up in intricate braids adorned with flowers.

_ “Max, don’t forget to live your life when I’m gone. _ ”

_ Max sits at Matilda’s side, her hands are ice cold in his. He warms them with both hands, trying not to crush her delicate fingers, yet wanting to hold onto her as tight as he can. “I don’t have a life without you, Mattie.” _

_ “Max…” Her lips are pale. Her smile warm, but tired.  _ “ _ My valiant knight _ .  _ It doesn’t feel like it now, but your heart will heal and the galaxy is wide. One day, you’ll find someone who will understand you better than I ever could. Someone who is as  quick-witted as you. They’ll love you for the brave champion you’ve always been and will help you become the commander you’ve always desired to be. On that day, know that wherever I am, wherever the Force takes me, I will be happy for you. _ ”

Veers blinked several times and wiped moisture away from his eyes. A quick glance around the room told him no one noticed.

_ Mattie, _ he thought, drawing in a deep breath,  _ wherever you are, I hope you know you were right. And you would have liked him.  _

“Max?” 

Eli Vanto was peeking into the room, fully dressed in a gray suit similar to his groomsman with a burgundy and cream tie. 

“Eli,” Veers greeted. “Come in, my boy. What can we do for you?”

“Thrawn wanted a report on security.”

“Covert troopers at every entrance, nook and cranny,” Covell piped in, while Tarkin beat his blazer aggressively with a lint brush.

“Did you check the sewer system?” Eli asked.

“Yes,” Covell affirmed.

“And the ventilation shafts?”

“We hired ugnaught mercs from the Bounty Hunters Guild for the job,” Piett said, clear disdain in his voice.

“Nothing will go wrong today,” Veers assured Eli. “Tell my husband-to-be to try not to be nervous.”

“He...says he ain’t nervous.”

Veers smirked. “Tell him I am nervous as well.”

Eli grinned. “I’ll just tell him security is fine.” 

“Eli Vanto,” Tarkin barked “What is that?”

Eli’s cheeks turned a deep shade of red. “What is what, sir?”

“Your tie. What  _ is  _ that knot?!”

“My tie?” Eli touched the knot at his throat. “It’s called an Executive twist.”

“He is deliberately trying to show us up.” Tarkin scoffed. “Undo it at once and tell Orson we are  _ all  _ doing a trinity knot. We  _ must  _ match.”

“A what?”

“Oh for stars... Lyste!”   
Lyste nearly leapt out of his skin, boutonniere in one and, pin in the other. “Yes, sir! Oh ah…” Veers snatched the boutonniere and pin from Lyste before the lieutenant could stab himself. 

Lyste gave Veers a grateful look before hurrying over to Tarkin.

“Show this lad how to do a trinity knot.”

Veers glanced up from his boutonniere to Lyste and Eli…

...then did a double-take.

Tarkin had abandoned the two to fuss over Piett’s blazer, leaving the two younger men staring at each other, a tie between them.

Veers gave a small wave to Covell, then nodded to his dumbfounded officers. Covell looked at them, then rolled his eyes with an amused grin.

_ Stars... _ Veers mused.  _ Was that how I looked when I saw Thrawn for the first time?  _ He hoped not, their expressions were far too obvious.

“Hello,” Lyste greeted, taking the tie from Eli. “I am Yogar Lyste.”

“Eli Vanto,” Eli said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat. “You, uh...part of security then?”

“Lieutenant Lyste is the new Supply Master for the Seventh Fleet,” Veers interjected, carefully pinning the boutonniere to his lapel. 

“Supply Master,” Eli blinked. “You know I always wanted-”

“The  _ tie _ , Yogar,” Tarkin barked from across the room.

With a jump, Lyste threw the tie over Eli’s neck. “Yes! Sorry, sir.”

Veers took a moment to watch. Lyste was a bit shorter than Eli, and needed to rise on his tiptoes to see clearly what he was doing. Eli stood stiff as a board, hands clenching and unclenching as his dark eyes looked down at the lieutenant.

Lyste meanwhile pointedly was  _ not  _ looking at Eli, his ears and cheeks turning a tell-tale pink.

“Where’d you learn a knot like this?” Eli asked, his voice barely above a whisper as if not wanting to interrupt Lyste’s intense concentration.

“Governor Tarkin uses me as his aide when on Lothal. He taught me how to fashion this particular knot last Empire Day. We had a...semi-clandestine gala that required us to be in suits and not uniforms. I learned then he insists all officers have matching ties.”

“A supply master and an aide? You n’ I will have to find some time to talk numbers and the pains of servitude.”

Lyste’s laugh was soft and deep. “I’d like that.”

“Alright,” Tarkin interrupted. “That looks fine. Thank you, Yogar. Eli, show Krennic your tie and inform him the decision is not negotiable. Remind him of the Great Cravat Faux Pas of Moff Jerjerrod’s Promotional Gala. He’ll know what I mean.”

“On it, sir. And thank you for the report, Max.” Eli turned to Lyste, rubbing his neck. “It was nice meeting you. I guess I’ll see you at the wedding then?”

“Oh, I…” Lyste fidgeted. “I am just helping. I was not invited.”

“Of course you are, Yogar,” Veers piped in, unable to stand the agony of the awkward conversation. “We shall make sure you have a seat among my Thundering Herd. You have been too helpful with security and whatever terrible tasks Krennic has been giving you just to be returned to the fleet.”

Lyste’s face shone with star-struck happiness. “Thank you, sir!” He turned to Eli. “I shall...ah...see you later then.” 

Eli started to do a bow, then a wave, then just...smiled and said a quick “see ya,” before rushing out the door. Lyste practically floated back to the security station.

Tarkin sighed, standing close to Veers. “Was I ever so young?” 

Veers nudged Tarkin’s side with his elbow. “Did I hear sentiment from the great and terrible Grand Moff Tarkin?”

Tarkin ignored the comment. “Firmus! Stop obsessing over those shoes and come here. I swear, it is a wonder any of you can find your way out of your uniforms.”

“Right away, sir,” Piett said, but quirked his mouth upwards at Veers as he hopped off the crate. Veers threw him a conspiratorial wink as the admiral humored Tarkin, standing perfectly still as a lint brush assaulted his trousers. 

Veers had grown up as an only child, but he felt as if he and Piett had “grown up” together, at least within the Empire. Rising through the ranks at roughly the same pace, their ambitions were similar, they shared the same unquenchable goals: Veers’ wish to wipe out the spice cartels and Piett’s desire to eradicate space piracy.  

Now, he supposed, they had an additional kinship of having non-human lovers. 

“Max,” Piett said, as Tarkin stripped him of his tie to take it to the ironing board. “Thank you for allowing me to invite Jabba. You truly didn’t have to go through the trouble.”

Veers shrugged. “It was no trouble, Firm. Everyone was allowed a plus one and you are a part of the wedding party. Of course he could come.”

“Yes, but...knowing who he is, what he is. Considering he is-”

“-a private business owner,” Veers interrupted with a smile.

Piett laughed softly. “Yes, well...thank you. And thank you for letting him bring Bib and Salacious as well. He was relieved to have a small entourage while neckfolds deep in Imperial company.”

“He brought that pesky monkey-lizard with him?” Tarkin balked, the metal iron hissing in his hand as if adding to his disdain. “Firmus, really. He will tear apart the whole venue.”

“He won’t be a problem, sir,” Piett replied, calmly. “Jabba promised to have him leashed. Salacious calms his nerves.”

Tarkin rolled his eyes. “Salacious Crumb…you know he nearly plucked my eyes out the first time I dealt with that bothersome Hutt during the Clone Wars.”

Piett smiled sheepishly, and leaned forward allowing Tarkin to drape the tie around his neck. “Yes, I know, sir.” 

A soft chime sounded from the security table. Veers’ heart lurched. “Is there a problem?”

“No, no,” Covell soothed, picking up his datapad. “I set it for ten minutes before ‘showtime’.”

Nervousness sent tingles through Veers’ body and he blew out a harsh breath. “Alright, then.” He cleared his throat. “I suppose...we shall take our places?” He cleared his throat a second time. 

Tarkin tilted his head as if studying a curious artifact. “Are you nervous, Maximilian?”

“Very much so.” Veers said. “By all accounts, I should not be. This is, as Eli would say ‘not my first rodeo’.”

“Yes, but like all things in life, new beginnings are a terrifying and exhilarating ride. Being nervous is perfectly natural.” Tarkin gave him a single pat on the back, then plucked a stray string from his shoulder. “You are going to do fine today.”

Veers felt a sudden tightness in his chest. “I love him, Wil. I want this to be perfect for him.”

“And so it shall be.” Tarkin’s smile went a touch darker. “Under penalty of death.”

Veers let out a laugh, despite the fact Tarkin was far from joking.

“Thank you, Wil. For everything.”

Covell clapped his hands. “Let’s do this!”

Lyste jumped up from his seat, then hesitated. “Let’s...oh...I’ll go find my seat then!” and scurried off.

Firmus squeezed Veers’ shoulder. “Ready?”

Veers drew in another breath and embraced the mixture of nervousness and excitement that only a chiss like Mitth’raw’nuruodo could make him feel. 

“I am ready.”

\-----

“I am not ready.”

Eli, Pellaeon and Krennic whirled around to face Thrawn.

“What?” They said in unison.

Blood roared in his ears. His vision blurred, and there was not enough air in all of Denon to fill Thrawn’s lungs. 

“I believe I am having a heart attack.” He placed a hand over his bare chest where it felt as if his heart was preparing an escape. “Send for a medic, at once.”

“Are ya sure ya aren’t just nervous?” Eli asked, putting a hand on Thrawn’s arm.

Though Eli’s words reached Thrawn’s ears, comprehension eluded him.

“Thrawn,” Krennic said, pushing Eli aside. “You need to get a hold of yourself. The music is already playing. The event is about to start. Just...I don’t know...take some deep breaths.”

Thrawn drew in a short breath...then another...then another…

Krennic frowned. “Deeper, darling.”

Thrawn reeled. Thick arms braced his back and it took a moment to realize Pellaeon was holding him upright. 

“Perhaps we should postpone,” said Pellaeon.

“We  _ can’t _ postpone,” Krennic hissed, waving to the double-doors that seemed too close and yet miles away. “It is already happening.”

“Wait a  _ kriffin _ ’ minute,” Eli snapped. Krennic stumbled back as Eli placed himself between the director and Thrawn. He put his hands on Thrawn’s arms.

“Thrawn?”

Slowly, Eli’s blurry face came into focus. Thrawn had never noticed just how dark Eli’s eyes truly were, nor the thickness of his eyebrows, so carefully sculpted. And his face...Thrawn had practically watched him grow up and yet his former aide still shone with youthful enthusiasm. 

“Thrawn, can ya hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Did Krennic ever give you a tour of the museum?”

Krennic stepped forward. “We don’t have time for this, Eli. I showed him the space during rehearsals two days ago!”

“Yeah, when it was still lookin’ like an art museum. Has he seen it since it’s been all gussied up?”

“Well...no. It was meant to be a surprise.”

Eli sighed. “That’s what I thought. Alright, come with me.” Eli took Thrawn’s perspiring hand.

“Wait,” Krennic cried. “The Arrival music won’t last much longer.” 

Thrawn had not noticed the music at all until Krennic pointed it out. The kloo horns keened softly and the quartet of strings created a bed of sounds for which the horns could thrive. 

It was beautiful. 

Another sharp pain seized Thrawn’s chest and he hissed softly.

“Well how much time we got?” Eli asked.

“Two minutes.”

“Then we’ll be back in a minute-fifty. Come on.”

One foot in front of the other, Thrawn was led through a discreet door that blended in with the cream-colored wall. A spiral staircase led Eli and him onto a platform surrounded by a retractable dome. The metal planks wiggled slightly as he stepped downwards. Thrawn saw the chains suspending the platform and realized this was a scaffold for cleaning droids. 

Eli walked towards a small crack in the dome and carefully pried it open enough to fit his head through. He looked around a moment then turned to Thrawn. 

“Alright, grand admiral, begin your survey.” Eli said.

Thrawn looked at him blankly. 

“Thrawn, for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve hated surprises,” Eli explained. “You’re goin’ into the most important day of your life without a proper ‘plan of attack’. Walkin’ in blind is the last thing someone like you should do on your wedding day. I get Orson’s good intentions, but...” Eli gave Thrawn a gentle nudge. “Go take a look. Plan your strategy.”

Heart still thrumming painfully in his chest, Thrawn took a step forward and peered down.

The Denon Metropolitan Museum of Art was centuries old, but the Warriors of Old Exhibit in the West Wing was brand new as of last year. Thrawn knew this because he had surprised Veers with a trip to the museum when it first opened. Although, he had seen the space during the rehearsal, he barely recognized it now.

The room was bright, round and open with a massive gold and white dome ceiling held up by intricately carved alabaster columns. Though the space was not meant for weddings, the music traveled magnificently through the exhibit, the acoustics giving the instruments a ubiquitous feel.

A series of small windows lined the base of the dome filling the room with a natural light, that was soft on the eyes, but did not warrant straining. 

How Krennic had managed to clear away all the lavish furniture and elegant rugs from the exhibit was baffling enough, but what truly took Thrawn’s breath away was how the artwork itself was rearranged. Somehow, Krennic must have convinced the curator to move every statue that had once dotted the exhibit and line them up along the aisle of which Thrawn and Veers intended to walk. From the tallest marble nude warrior to the most complex geometric abstract design, the statues, though eclectic and mismatched, were somehow brilliantly spaced. It allowed partial cover, but enough room so guests could observe the procession down the aisle.

The aisle itself was a burgundy carpet with gold trim that bifurcated towards two double-door entrances where Thrawn and Veers would be entering. The two paths joined together and led up to an archway of glittering gold lined with burgundy satin ribbons. 

Above the archway, in a place of honor, was an oil painting so large Thrawn could easily see it from the scaffolding. The subject was a human man clad in broken armor standing atop a pile of dead killik marauders. The blaster cannon in the man’s thickly muscled arms was firing at something unseen. His green eyes were wild and fearless, his brown beard streaked with bolts of white. Battle scars crisscrossed along his arms and legs and several claw marks covered his face. The plaque beneath the piece said: “Major General Augustus Veers, Savior of Denon, Champion of the Great Hive Wars.”

The painting was as breathtaking now as it had been when Veers and he stood before it for the first time. He remembered squeezing Veers’ hand as the general quietly wept in sheer awe.

So magnificent was the art piece that Thrawn did not immediately notice the dark figure beneath the archway. 

“Is that Lord Vader?” Thrawn asked.

“Yeah, it’s him.”

“As I understood, the Emperor was going to officiate via holoprojection.”’

Eli shook his head. “Tarkin wouldn’t have it. He thought it was disrespectful to be married by a hologram. He also said it’s best to not involve the Emperor in the wedding of two officers, one of whom blatantly disregarded his orders to save the other.”

“Point taken,” Thrawn conceded, and studied the guests who were all seated. 

On the left side of the aisle sat the  _ Chimaera _ bridge crew, his trusted Cerulean Storm TIE Pilots, and members of ISB he had grown fond of over the years. 

On the right were Veers’ “boys” as he called them: the Thundering Herd, several naval officers, a few childhood friends from Denon, and it seemed Thrawn’s new supply master Lieutenant Lyste had been invited to stay as well. 

Beside Veers’ side of the room was also a large platform where Jabba the Hutt sat with Bib Fortuna sitting in a chair beside him and Salacious Crumb nested atop the hutt’s tail despite having his own small chair beside Bib. 

Every seat was filled plus the addition of Lyste and Jabba’s support. 

Although the guests’ faces were mostly obscured, the atmosphere itself felt...peaceful...celebratory.

_ This was just a formality...and yet… _

“...I am marrying Max today.”

“You sure are.”

Thrawn swallowed hard. 

Emotions unidentified and unaccounted for began to swim around Thrawn's head and chest like lost eels out of water. 

“I love him, Eli,” Thrawn said, quietly.

“I know ya do, Thrawn.”

Never had he felt such a confused torrent of elation and anxiety, jubilation and fear. It was illogical and unreasonable. It was overwhelming…too much...

Eli’s comforting hand squeezed his shoulder. “Tell me the plan, grand admiral.”

Thrawn let out a quick breath and took several moments to narrow his focus. 

“You and Orson shall take the lead, approaching the archway from the Southwest, while Freja and Firmus proceed from the Southeast. You shall join together and walk down the aisle towards your assigned stations on either side of Vader’s position. 

“Next, Gilad and I will advance, as will Max and Wilhuff. We will rendezvous where our paths intersect. Veers and I will join arms and head towards Vader’s location, with Gilad and Wilhuff flanking us. From there the ceremony can begin.”

Thrawn felt some of the anxiety release from his tense body and he was finally able to draw that deep, coveted breath. 

“That sounds like a good plan, sir,” Eli replied. 

“I believe I am ready.”

“Yeah, I think ya are,” Eli said. “Come on then, let’s go get you married!”

\-----

It was time.

The double-doors opened and Veers walked into golden sunlight that filled the wedding hall.

The music began the moment he stepped onto the plush carpet. A male and female togruta, dressed in shimmering silver, shared a single microphone, arms entwined as they sang together. 

The bith band behind them strummed delicate stringed instruments and glided their fingers along pulsating synthesizers, creating notes that fluttered through the air, carrying with it Thrawn and Veers’ song.

_ “ _ _ Taking over this town, they should worry, _

_ But these problems aside I think I taught you well. _

_ That we won't run, and we won't run, and we won't run.” _

He found Thrawn immediately, walking down the adjacent aisle towards him. Veers’ heart brimmed with excitement as he walked, the music shifting to a crescendo. 

_ “And in the winter night sky ships are sailing, _ _  
_ _ Looking down on these bright blue city lights.” _

Thrawn looked breathtaking. The cream and burgundy tunic a sharp contrast with his cerulean skin of his exposed chest and hands. His face was painted, highlighting his already elegant features. Soft lowlights of dark blush contoured his prominent cheekbones and subtle crests upon his brow, sharp wings of scarlet adorned vibrant scarlet eyes. And Veers’ heart ached beautifully at the gentle smile spreading across a pair of glossy, pink lips.

Veers smiled back.

_ “And they won't wait, and they won't wait, and they won't wait. _ _  
_ _ We're here to stay, we're here to stay, we're here to stay.” _

A hundred pairs of eyes were on him, yet Veers felt as if Thrawn and he were all that existed in the galaxy. Two lovers, who had overcome overwhelming odds to get to this point. They endured war and violence and loss, had fought for each other and fought side-by-side. Now they met at a joined path, and faced a future together forever.

_ "Howling ghosts they reappear _ __  
_ In mountains that are stacked with fear _ _  
_ __ But you're a king and I'm a lion-heart.”

Veers did not realize how hard he was squeezing Tarkin’s arm until he felt the reassuring pat of the governor’s hand on his arm. 

“You’re doing fine, my boy,” Tarkin whispered.

However grateful Veers was for his mentor’s rare form of compassion, he was doubly-grateful that Pellaeon was not the pseudo-family member to give him away. The captain was unsuccessfully holding back sentimental tears as Thrawn patted his hand comfortingly. 

At the intersection, Tarkin and Pellaeon stepped aside and allowed Thrawn and Veers to join together, taking each other’s hands and standing for several long seconds, embracing the moment to its fullest. 

 

_ “And in the sea that's painted black, _ __  
_ Creatures lurk below the deck _ _  
_ __ But you're a king and I'm a lion-heart.”

Veers felt Thrawn tremble, and he knew his own hands were clammy. They exchanged a knowing smile. They were both nervous. They were both excited. And as always they were a team, ready to face this new challenge together. 

_ “And as the world comes to an end _ __  
_ I'll be here to hold your hand _ _  
_ __ 'Cause you're my king and I'm your lion-heart.”

The song ended just as Veers and Thrawn reached the end of the aisle to be greeted by their officiant. Perhaps it was the buzz of excitement, or perhaps it was the soothing romantic soundscape provided by the band, but Vader's presence was oddly fitting.

His black armor was complementary to the dark gray suits of the groomsmen, and the war-themed artwork throughout the gallery only gave the Dark Lord a heroic quality.

It felt right for two decorated Imperials to be wed by a Sith Warrior. 

“Passion,” Vader began, his voice a soft, graveled sound that echoed in the wedding hall, “is a powerful ally in the Force. Passion propels us towards our destiny. It gives us strength when despair haunts us, and power when the galaxy challenges us. It is also the energy that flows through the two warriors standing before us today. 

“In all my years of service to the Empire, never have I seen a pair more suitable for each other than Maximilian Veers and Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

Veers spied Krennic opening his mouth to protest, but then immediately closed it again. Though Veers could not see, he could imagine the warning look Tarkin was most likely casting in his husband’s direction. 

Vader did not seem to notice.

“In the wisdom of Darth Bane…”

Vader went on to speak of various sith lords and their views of companionship, passion and power. Veers, meanwhile, allowed himself to be lost in the chiss’ scarlet eyes. In turn, Thrawn seemed locked to his own hazel gaze. 

“It is my pleasure and honor to be the one to unite these two today. Mitth’raw’nuruodo, please declare your vow to Maximilian.”

At first, Thrawn did not move. Veers had to give him a quick squeeze and Thrawn seemed to snap back into the real world.  To Veers’ surprise, Thrawn broke his grip on Veers’ hands and turned to face the crowd. 

“Gentlepersons,” he addressed as if speaking to an Imperial assembly. “Thank you all for attending our wedding. This day...today…I...” Thrawn’s voice cracked and he fell silent. 

Veers glanced at the room. All waited patiently for the chiss. When Thrawn glanced back at Veers, he threw the chiss a quick wink. A faint violet tinge colored Thrawn’s cheeks, but his shoulders relaxed, and his tightened fists loosened behind his back.

“My interest in Maximilian Veers was an unintentional one. He was once only a name to me, one that would surface in reports, the rumors of Black Sun raids and praise for victories with his Thundering Herd. It was not until I met the man behind the reputation that something awoke within me. 

“I...do not see the world as many do. This is not a boast, in fact, I have found my ascent in the Empire to be faced with more hindrances because of it. To operate without a logical approach is not my way. To care for someone without a calculated purpose is not how I operate. When it comes to Max, I find logic and purpose do not factor into my feelings.” Thrawn turned to Veers, his eyes glistening with emotion behind a stoic face. “I love you, Maximilian Veers. My heart.  _ Ch’eo vur. _ All that I am, all that I have, I give to you.” Thrawn turned slightly and Eli handed him the wedding ring: A cobalt band encrusted with a glittering sapphire and emerald. Within the band were the words  _ ch’eo vur _ in Cheunh script. 

“With this ring I pledge myself to you. Our two souls are one.”

Thrawn slipped the ring onto Veers’ finger. 

For the first time in decades, Veers felt peace. The weight of the ring, the confidence in the vow, and the realization that he would be with Thrawn for the rest of his days made him feel complete.

“Maximilian,” Vader addressed. “Declare your vow to Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

Veers blinked the tears away and drew in a breath. 

Before he could begin, however, a series of screeching chirps filled the hall. Veers, Thrawn and several guests turned to look towards Jabba who was now holding Salacious Crumb in his chubby arms. The monkey-lizard’s face was buried in his neckfolds, sobbing and hiccupping loudly. 

Bib soothed the creature in quiet huttese until Crumb quieted down, then gestured for Veers to continue.

“Sorry, Max,” Piett whispered. “He’s sensitive.”

Tarkin made a soft, irritated snort. 

Veers had intended on expressing his vows to Thrawn, but upon seeing Thrawn’s speech he adjusted his tactic, turning to face the crowd as Thrawn had done. 

“I admit when our courtship began, I had many reservations about Mitth’raw’nuruodo. Here was this handsome warrior, with commendations stacked higher than a rancor stands tall, asking me, a Corellian watchdog and Imperial groundpounder, to spend time with him. It was no secret he rocked the very foundation of the Empire with his presence. I could only imagine what he was scheming when he invited me to dinner.” 

A smile pulled across Veers face. “I treated that dinner as I would a theater of war. I tried to strategize my approach, to predict my opponent’s movements, to come out in victory. What I soon found out was that he had approached the evening the exact same way. He and I appraised each other’s altruism. We scrutinized each other’s moral fiber. When our interviews were complete we...” Veers cleared his throat, remembering licking bits of cake from Thrawn’s sinful pink lips. “...well...it turned out to be a lovely evening.”

A few chuckles rippled through the crowd. 

Veers continued. “My grandmother once said that soul mates are forever linked by a red string of fate. No matter the lifetime, no matter how the story of their life plays out, a soul will always finds its way towards their true love. Thrawn...Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” he turned to face Thrawn. “When I look into your eyes I see my future. I see home and safety, adventure and prosperity. I see a long life worth living together.” Veers turned slightly and took the ring from Tarkin. The band was identical to Thrawn’s with the inscription “my love” written in Aurebesh. 

“With this ring I pledge myself to you. Our two souls are one.”

He slid the ring onto Thrawn’s finger, and gazed up at those scarlet eyes. A swell of excitement rose within him as Vader lifted his hands. 

“By the Power of the Empire, the will of the Force, the strength of the Dark Side, I now pronounce you Partners Life-Joined.”

Veers slid his arms around Thrawn’s waist as Thrawn wrapped his arms around his neck. Showing a great deal of restraint, Veers kept his kiss gentle and respectful. Thrawn, however, pressed harder against his lips, inviting a deeper kiss that lasted for several blissful seconds.

Cheers erupted from the guests. 

When Veers pulled away, he was met with a soft, warm smile, slightly wider than he had ever seen on the chiss.

Someone was throwing confetti. Someone else threw flower petals. Tears streamed down many cheeks and Veers could have sworn he heard a slight choked sound from the grand moff behind him. Piett and Covell clapped him hard on the back and Krennic practically tackled Thrawn in a hug. 

Congratulatory exclamations exploded from every part of the room, but somehow it was all muted to Veers. 

For a long moment, Thrawn and Veers gazed at each other, their hands joined, rings adding a comfortable weight, binding them together as surely as the red string of fate. 

“I love you,” Veers mouthed.

“ _ Ch'ah ch'acah vah _ ,” Thrawn whispered back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY ARE MARRRRRRRRIEDDDDDD :D Thank you so much for reading! Last chapter will be the Reception and tender conclusion to a series that means the world to us. Thank you for reading. I can't wait to show you guys the rest!
> 
> Veers' Vows reference [Red String of Fate by Nspamc](http://nspamc.tumblr.com/post/164189778509/o-you-probably-thought-i-wasnt-going-to-draw-you%20from)  
> Chiss Terms:  
> Ch'ah ch'acah vah - means I love you :3  
> ch’eo k’sici - My brother  
> Ch'eo Vur - my heart


	3. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tender conclusion to our beloved series: Operation: Galactic Gambit

Contrary to popular belief, Mitth’raw’nuruodo did not appreciate all artistic endeavors.

His meticulous and often obsessive study of a culture’s art, was often mistaken for enthusiasm, and, in truth, Thrawn did enjoy the practice.

Yet, the very idea that Thrawn could love _all_ forms of art was utterly absurd. He had specific tastes same as anyone. And every culture had at least one artistic era that rubbed Thrawn the wrong way.

For Denon it was the Abstract Expressionism Period. That era and the “art” that filled it was the utter bane of Thrawn’s existence.

Monotone-colored canvases, nonsensical paint splatters on steel panels, ordinary objects fused together without apparent care or consideration. It was an era of deeply exaggerated expression of counterculture, and a dull spot in a rich and vibrant artistic history of the Denonian people.

Needless to say, Thrawn was not pleased to know his wedding reception was to take place in the Denon Metropolitan Museum of Art’s “Tribute to the Abstract Expressionist” Exhibit.

He was especially displeased when Orson Krennic insisted on keeping its decor a secret.

Yet, when Thrawn and Veers walked arm-in-arm through the double doors into the reception hall, it was immediately clear that Krennic knew exactly what he was doing.

And Thrawn was able to breathe a sigh of relief.

Gone were the cringe-worthy geometric shapes on matte canvases and pieces of driftwood posing as “statues”. Even the piece _Lonely Convention_ was removed, which was nothing more than a plastic pool filled with colorful toy balls. The paintings were obscured by large curtains and the statues that were too heavy to move were simply covered with silken burgundy sheets. How exactly Krennic managed to convince the curator to change an entire exhibit for the sake of a single wedding Thrawn couldn't explain.

Unless, of course, the curator had no idea this was taking place. When dealing with Krennic it was best, as Eli would say, “not to look a gift nerf in the mouth”.

In any case, Thrawn could see why Krennic took the trouble to choose this particular exhibit for the wedding reception.

The room was large enough to fit one-hundred-and-two guests comfortably and leave space for a dining area and a substantial dance floor. The ceiling, though not as high as the wedding hall’s, had a similar dome and held agreeable acoustics for the bith band which played playing ambient music the moment Thrawn and Veers arrived.

The dining tables were of genuine wood and draped with burgundy tablecloths with colorful flower centerpieces dyed gray and white. The silverware glittered beneath holo-projected white and gold chandeliers high above each table.

Flanking the dining area was a pair of curved tables filled with roasted meats, a variety of cheeses, and a whole garden of other food items that would appeal to the most voracious carnivore as well as the strictest vegan.

Looming over the meat station (and away from the flames that warmed them) was an ice sculpture of General Veers’ beloved AT-AT, Blitzkrieg, which was an exact replica down to the long scorch marks along her hull.

Opposite of the buffet station was the dessert display which was a work of art on its own. A chocolate fountain was the centerpiece surrounded by an army of fruits, candies, sponge cakes, and (at Thrawn’s request) a mountain of marshmallows. Just as the icy Blitzkrieg watched over the food, an eight serpent-headed Chimaera, identical to the artwork painted on the underbelly of Thrawn’s flagship, towered in three-dimensional form over the fountain at nearly four meters high.

“Orson has outdone himself,” Thrawn said, studying the detail of the icy mythical beast.

“He added Blitzkrieg’s battle scars,” Veers breathed, wistfully. “I am...impressed.”

Thrawn arched an eyebrow at his new husband, holding back a remark that it may have been the first time Veers had ever paid Krennic a compliment. Veers seemed to catch on to Thrawn’s amused look and rolled his eyes.

“Where _is_ all the art?” Veers sniffed. “Where is _Driftwood_ by Rapnoth?”

Thrawn narrowed his eyes. “I elect to ignore that question.”

A glint of mischief sparked in Veers’ hazel eyes. “And _Door Painted Green_! You _love_ that piece. And _Gateway_ -”

“Do not say _Gateway to_ -”

“And _Gateway to the Soul of A Tortured Artist at Midnight_?!” Veers interrupted quickly, unable to hide a cheeky grin.

Thrawn let out a long, mildly exaggerated sigh. “I cannot believe you waited until I married you to reveal your love of this abominable art movement.”

“You never would have said ‘yes’ otherwise,” Veers hummed, planting a kiss on Thrawn’s cheek.

Thrawn was about to lean in for a second kiss when Krennic opened the doors and ushered in the rest of the wedding party.

Once everyone was in place lined up beside the main entrance, the guests came in one-by-one in a seemingly endless line. Gifts were handed to Eli and Covell to stack upon a large table behind them, credits were given to Krennic to fund the honeymoon, and well-wishes were dispensed to the couple directly.

Each happy face blended into the next for Thrawn, and a mechanical reply of “thank you for coming” seemed to be the only words Thrawn could muster.

When the last of the guests finally were released towards the buffet and bar, Thrawn and Veers were alone once again.

The buzz of prolonged socializing brought an edge to Thrawn’s nerves. It was as if a hundred electrified ants crawled beneath his skin, itching to escape. There were so many people. He knew every one of them...still...the sheer volume was daunting as they dispersed throughout the hall.

It was several heartbeats later when Thrawn realized Veers had asked him a question.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I asked if you were hungry?”

Thrawn faintly caught the scent of succulent roast wafting towards him. It had a hint of rosemary. He eyed the chocolate fountain and the snowy bowl of marshmallow clouds as well.

“Not yet.”

“A drink perhaps?”

Thrawn considered it, but shook his head.

“Well, I am not ready to dance, so that only leaves us one option,” Veers bowed slightly and extended his elbow. “May I steal you away for a few moments on the balcony?”

Thrawn let out a sigh of relief. “Yes, please.”

Thrawn and Veers crossed the room to a long row of wall-length windows overlooking the Denon metropolitan area. Veers’ fingers ran along a few of the window frames before finally finding a secret latch that pulled the window open.

“How did you know to look for that?” Thrawn asked.

“It was the first thing I asked Krennic to look into,” Veers replied. “I knew you were going to be crawling out of your skin after that mandatory ‘meet-and-greet’.”

Thrawn rubbed his arms. “That expression is more accurate than you think. Thank you, Max.”

Veers opened the door and held out his hand. “Anything for a handsome chiss in pink lipstick.”

Thrawn rolled his scarlet-adorned eyes and allowed himself to be escorted into the cool Denonian night.

A half dozen lamps were affixed on sconces between the windows. The light was soft enough to not pollute the starry night sky above them, but bright enough that Thrawn could see the brown flecks in Veers’ hazel eyes as he gazed into them. A peculiar smile spread across Veers’ face, deepening his laugh lines.

It was not a confident smirk or an impish grin, but something tight, thin and brimming with unseen emotion.

“Max? What is it?”

Veers’ response came in the form of a sudden, rough hug, his thick limbs wrapping around Thrawn’s waist and he buried his face in the chiss’ shoulder.

Wide-eyed and stiff, Thrawn stood motionless, stunned from the sudden embrace.

Then, relief and understanding caught up with him.

Thrawn threw his arms around Veers, a hand clutching the man’s head, his free arm wrapped tight around his shoulders.

“Max,” he whispered. “We are here.”

It was all he could say. It did not feel adequate. It was not eloquent. He should have said something more profound.

Three months ago, Thrawn left Veers, convinced he would never see Veers again. Days before that, he thought Veers might be dead. A year before that, Thrawn had almost lost him at Endor. And a year further, after Hoth was won, Thrawn watched helplessly as Veers’ legs were put back together by medical droids who believed he may never walk again.

Thrawn had nearly lost Veers time and again, but until this moment he had not considered how Veers must have felt about this day as well.

Maximilian Veers had gone through hell to reach today. Rebels tries to destroy him, traitors sought to break his spirit, even Thrawn had abandoned him in a devastating misguided attempt to save him.

Whatever fear Thrawn had endured was tenfold for Veers who had to overcome the impossible to return to his soulmate’s arms.

Now here they were, on a single perfect day, in a single perfect moment. Free of combat, of offensive planning, of rebels, of worry.

They were safe and together and at peace.

“Yes, we are…” Max responded quietly, and somehow it was a perfect reply.

Thrawn closed his eyes and felt his husband’s heart beating against his own with a thin layer of fabric between his bare chest and Veers’ dress shirt. Two hearts beating as one, rhythmic and soothing. Thrawn felt as if his heart could not beat without his husband’s. It was a terrifying thought, and one that he could not shake.

He squeezed his husband tighter, and felt Veers do the same.

Veers raised his head, kissing Thrawn’s neck softly.

“I love you.” Veers’ voice was barely above a whisper and Thrawn knew any louder and the general would reveal the emotion choking his voice.

“ _Ch'ah ch'acah vah_ ,” Thrawn replied, before realizing he had declared his love in his native tongue.

Before he could rectify his misspeak, Veers gave him a reassuring squeeze. “I love when you slip into Cheunh like that, love,” he said. Then with a subtle rotation of his hips he added. “...And it does rile me up a bit.”

Thrawn gave an irritated hiss, and pulled back to see Veers’ boyish grin. “You have ruined the moment,” Thrawn chided, then rewarded Veers’ crass mouth a kiss. “Brute.”

“The brute you married,” Veers said, responding with a second kiss.

“I did indeed."

Veers sighed. “I suppose we should return to the guests.”

Thrawn nodded. “My appetite is slowly returning. Perhaps I shall start with the sponge cake before advancing to the marshmallows. Though the strawberries seem...Max? What is it?”

Veers was no longer looking at Thrawn, but at something over Thrawn’s shoulder in the reception hall.

“Oh for kriff’s sake. Orson, I swear...”

“What is wrong?” Thrawn tried to follow Veers’ gaze, but found only the meat station filled with guests.

“Krennic has that poor boy working the buffet table.”

Thrawn tilted his head and noticed Lieutenant Lyste, still in his uniform, carefully refilling a punch bowl with one hand and restocking the tower of napkins with another. “I allowed Krennic to employ a few of my supply officers to help with the celebration.”

“Well, he only hired Lyste and is working that boy to death. He does not need to fuss over food replenishment, let the waiters handle it. He is my guest tonight.”

Thrawn frowned. “Why are you so concerned about the supply master?”

Veers put his hands on Thrawn’s shoulders and turned him slightly towards the open area beside the dance floor. “Look at Eli.”

Thrawn found Eli speaking to Captain Faro and Captain Pellaeon. Pellaeon was dominating the conversation with emphatic gestures, a scotch sloshing in his hand. Faro was wearing a shimmering black dress, clutching her glass of wine as she giggled at Pellaeon’s words.

Eli, however, was maintaining a polite smile, but his eyes were drifting past the two towards the buffet table. He seemed to be longing for something to eat.

 _No,_ Thrawn corrected himself. _He is not looking at the food._

“Does he wish to speak to Lieutenant Lyste about something?”

Veers snorted. “Yes, Thrawn, just as you wished to ‘speak’ to me about ‘something’ the night you invited me to our first dinner.”

Thrawn thought about that night for a moment.

Thrawn _had_ wished to speak with Veers. First, he desired to interview him to gauge intellectual compatibility. Next, he wished to explore if mutual interest existed.

The final test was to measure sensual chemistry. All of it was a means to determine if Veers was to be a suitable potential mate.

Thrawn’s eyes brightened. “I see. Very well. Please excuse me, I shall return.”

“What? Thrawn, wait!”

But Thrawn already knew his mission. If his former aide and closest friend desired companionship, then Thrawn would ensure his success. But first he needed to close the gap between Eli and Lyste physically.

Thrawn approached the buffet table. “Yogar, will you come with me?”

Lyste froze, his mouth agape. A bowl of stuffed olives were in his arms lingering over a smaller half-filled bowl. “Sir...er...Thrawn? Yes, of course!”

Lyste rushed towards Thrawn, still hugging the bowl of olives.

“I do not believe you need those.”

Lyste looked down at the bowl. “Of course, yes. One moment. Excuse me.”

He rushed back to the table, abandoned the olives, and returned to Thrawn.

“Follow me,” Thrawn instructed, tucking his hands behind his back. He led Lyste towards Eli, Pellaeon and Faro where Covell had also joined the conversation.

Eli was curling his brown hair behind his ears, a gesture, Thrawn observed, used when attempting to pay attention to a boring conversation.

Thrawn was only a few meters away when Eli caught sight of him with Lyste.

Eli’s expression puzzled Thrawn. He should have been exhibiting excitement at seeing Thrawn bring Lyste to him. Yet, his dark eyes widened considerably, almost as if in absolute horror.

 _Was Max mistaken? Did Eli not wish to court this young man?_ Thrawn looked back at Lyste and saw the very same expression on the Suppy Master’s face.

Whether Veers was mistaken or not, the wheels were already in motion.

“Commander Eli Vanto, have you met my new Supply Master for the Seventh Fleet, Lieutenant Yogar Lyste?”

Thrawn gestured towards Lyste.

“Ah, yeah...briefly...in uh...Max’s dressing room before the wedding. He helped me with my tie...thanks for that by the way.”

“It looks nice,” Lyste said, in a deep, quiet voice. “The tie, I mean...it...held together well.”

Not only did the Supply Master seem to be very focused on his own hands, but Thrawn worried that Lyste was having some sort of blood pressure issue, his cheeks taking on an alarming shade of red.

“Eli Vanto has returned to us from the Chiss Ascendancy. He has been assisting my people with their military restructure.” Thrawn explained. “You will be staying with us for a while I hope?”

Eli nodded. “Ar’alani said I could take all the time I needed.”

“Excellent,” Thrawn said. “Perhaps you and Lyste could-”

“Ah, there you are!” Veers said, appearing suddenly at Thrawn’s side. “I do believe you promised me a dance, love. At least before Jabba takes over the floor.”

Thrawn blinked. “I do not believe I-”

“We will speak to you later, Eli. Yogar, thank you for being my guest!” Veers gave the bewildered men a wink and lead Thrawn away before he could say anymore.

Veers found a comfortable opening on the dance floor and pulled Thrawn close. Dancers shifted around them to give them a respectful space.

“I was in the middle of helping their courtship,” Thrawn protested as Veers wrapped one arm around his waist.

“I know you were, that is why I needed to kidnap you. Let them stumble through this on their own, love.”

Thrawn looked back. Eli was rubbing his neck and saying something he couldn't hear. Lyste nodded, still staring at his hands.

“They look uncomfortable. I really should be there to help.”

Veers touched Thrawn’s chin and guided his gaze back to his husband. “You helped by rescuing Lyste from Krennic’s servitude. They shall be fine.”

Thrawn surrendered to a gentle kiss, smiling slightly as some of the pinkish glitter clung to Veers’ lower lip.

His attention did not fully return to Veers until Eli boldly swiped two wine glasses from a passing waiter and handed one of them to Lyste. Whatever he said next made Lyste laugh and they clinked their glasses together.

With a contented sigh, Thrawn rested his cheek on Veers’ shoulder.

The music shifted into a slow and sweet ballad.

Veers gave Thrawn’s fingers a soft kiss and clutched them to his chest as they moved in a gentle sway back and forth on the dance floor. They kept the dreamy pace even as the music moved from light and airy to quick and peppy.

All the while, Thrawn’s eyes lazily moved from guest to guest, observing them all in a setting he may never witness again.

Pellaeon and Faro, rosy-cheeked and tipsy, were holding each other up as they swayed nearby.

Needa and Jerjerrod were standing on the edge of the dance floor, both looking as awkward as Eli and Lyste. Two songs later, Needa murmured something and held out his hand. Jerjerrod nodded and was immediately whisked onto the floor.

When the tango started everyone, including Thrawn and Veers made space as Tarkin and Krennic marched into the spotlight. Their heels clicked, their hips locked, their icy gazes fused to each other as they moved in a graceful, long-legged battle for control. Neither relented, even as one took the lead over the other. Never had Thrawn seen such a sensual dance performed. He imagined many of the breathless, blushing guests agreed.

A jovial _“ho ho ho ho”_ drew Thrawn’s gaze to a platform to one side of the dining hall. Jabba the Hutt sat comfortably on a raised platform fashioned for him.

Admiral Piett leaned against the hutt whose thick arm was wrapped around the admiral’s narrow waist. Piett and Jabba were speaking in low tones in what looked to be an in-depth conversation while Piett gently pet Salacious Crumb asleep in his arms. Thrawn appreciated the rare relaxed smile on the Imperial’s usual worried face.

“They are very comfortable with each other.”

“We may be invited to their wedding next,” Veers replied, also observing the unlikely pair.

“You most likely will be a groomsman,” Thrawn affirmed.

“Never in a million years would I imagine such a couple would exist.”

“I believe some feel the same about us,” Thrawn replied, laying his head against Veers’ shoulder once again, breathing in his familiar scent, tropical and woodsy, safe and comforting.

Veers drew him closer, his hand covering Thrawn’s, pressing against his chest. “Let them wonder. We are happy. It is all that matters.”

The party eventually began to dwindle and thin.

Dimly, Thrawn was aware of Krennic shooing people away: “Yes, I shall pass along your well-wishes.” “No, no, let them have their moment!” “Go on, shoo!”

When the lasts of the guests left Krennic whispered: “Take your time, you two,” and guided a tipsy Tarkin away, dimming the lights as he left.

Thrawn did not noticed the music had stopped. Veers did not seem to notice either.

They held each other close, enjoying every second of peace. Their life together would always be one of adventure and excitement, but for now they would enjoy this gift: a single quiet evening to cherish for a lifetime.

Thrawn felt it strange to feel this sort of comfort. From a homeless orphan to a grand admiral, from a career bachelor to a married chiss.

 _Curious where life takes one,_ he mused. _Curious and wonderful._

He let himself sink into the security of the moment.

He let himself be enveloped in the overwhelming warmth of true love.

He never wanted the feeling to end.

And with Maximilian Veers at his side, his heart mate, his _ch’eo vur_...

...It never did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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